


Scorpion

by 127s



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a sad ending, Biting, Blood Drinking, Break Up, Flashbacks, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memories, Sacrifice, Vampire Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Vampires, but with a twist that makes them a million times more angsty, it's miserable, like seriously this may be the angstiest thing i've ever written, they're in love :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:40:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/127s/pseuds/127s
Summary: "I can't!" He repeats, and presses Taeyong closer against the wall, resisting any space he'd started to eliminate between the two of them. "I can't, I just— I won't be able to stop, I'll hurt you."Doyoung swallows, moving back in the slightest to aim a gaze towards the floor, when all Taeyong wants is to let their eyes meet. "You know what they don't tell you about vampires, Taeyong?"If Taeyong wasn't still already, he would be now."They can't just feed from anyone. They can, really, but it's useless. It only makes them hungrier. What they need—" Doyoung pauses, shakes his head. Taeyong can't see his face, but he's sure the other's eyes are firmly shut. "Is their lover. The only blood that can satisfy their need is that of someone they love."
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Scorpion

**Author's Note:**

> title is based on twice's song scorpion!

There hadn't been any hints leading up to it.

Until the day before, Doyoung had been as loving as ever. Running his fingers through Taeyong's hair, holding his hand, tracing circles over the older's knuckles with his thumb. He'd mumbled compliments to Taeyong as he fell asleep in his arms, while a movie neither paid attention to played quietly ahead of them.

They'd cooked every meal together, and Doyoung had wrapped his arms around Taeyong from behind, resting his head on his shoulder. His hands hovered over Taeyong's to help him with what he was doing, or at least he'd always pretend that was the purpose, the blonde knew it was nothing more than an excuse to be close to him.

And as always, Doyoung had made him laugh and smile, with such effortlessness that Taeyong sometimes thought it was what he was born to do. He rarely needed to ever say or do anything, his presence alone was enough to make Taeyong giggle and grin in a way he never had.

Everything was perfect, every moment with Doyoung was perfect— It was like living a dream since the moment they'd met.

Taeyong had never given much thought to soulmates, to him it was nothing more than a concept in romance movies. But Doyoung changed that. Much like everything else, he didn't have to try. 

He realised that one day, when he watched Doyoung take his hand, lifting his ring finger to trail his own alongside it, and hum softly. "I think I'll marry you one day." 

"You think?" Taeyong had already been smiling, but the words made it lift to his eyes too, showing the smile that only Doyoung could bring out of him. "How romantic."

"You're right. Hope is a better word." Doyoung chuckled, bringing Taeyong's hand to his lips, where he pressed a faint kiss at the back of his hand, then another, just above the knuckle of his ring finger. "I hope I'll marry you one day."

"You will." The older told him without a thought, because he was sure of it.

Doyoung was his soulmate. He brought a sense of permanence. A feeling that he'd be there forever, for Taeyong to spend the rest of his life with.

And then one day, the feeling was gone.

Doyoung was anxious, pacing, fiddling with his hands, always moving, like he didn't dare to be within a few feet of Taeyong.

And Taeyong had that awful feeling in his chest from the other's behaviour alone, the feeling that something was _very_ wrong, and somewhere, deep down, the suspicion that he knew what was coming.

"Taeyong," Doyoung had said, in such a toneless manner that it didn't even feel like his name. "We need to talk."

Taeyong looked up from where he'd fixed his gaze to the floor, wanting to look anywhere but Doyoung, who was acting more like a stranger than when they'd first met. "What's up?" He'd tried to sound casual, but his voice sounded weak, uneven.

Doyoung exhaled, finally willing himself to sit down. But nowhere near Taeyong, and rather as far from him as possible, at a small chair opposite the older. 

Taeyong hated it.

The other man swallowed firmly. "We— I don't think this is working anymore."

"What isn't?" Taeyong had asked, though he'd known exactly what 'this' was, he desperately clung to the hope that it could be something else— something minuscule, something that he could laugh about ever comparing to what he feared the most.

He regretted asking immediately, when the younger's expression became painted with a kind of hurt he couldn't mask. Doyoung stayed silent so long that Taeyong begun to think he'd wordlessly ended the conversation.

"Us." He confirmed.

And there it was.

Everything Taeyong dreaded, everything that followed him into nightmares, into sleepless nights of overthinking.

His mind went into overdrive, searching for something, for a reason why everything they shared was suddenly slipping between his fingers. What had he done? What had he said? What changed?

"Doyoung," Taeyong's voice had felt like an echo of something that didn't exist. "If I did something— if something happened, we can talk about it."

"You didn't do anything." Doyoung exhaled with the kind of irritation Taeyong wasn't used to. He'd looked like he was contemplating between saying a dozen things, but ultimately decided against them all. "I should go."

Taeyong didn't know why he stayed so still. There were no tears threatening to spill from his eyes, and no instinctive movements to stand and stop Doyoung when the other started to get up. There'd been so much sureness in the other's tone, trying to argue it, question it further— it seemed useless.

So he didn't say anything.

Taeyong had sat there, on that stupid couch he didn't even like the color of, and let the love of his life leave without another word. He hadn't moved once he'd heard the click of the door closing after Doyoung, and he hadn't moved when time had started to pass, and every moment made it more abundantly clear that Doyoung wasn't coming back.

It's easy to convince himself it's his own fault. 

His fault for not getting Doyoung to stay, his fault for not pressing further, his fault for messing up in some awful, unintentional way.

It's especially easy late into the night, when the bed feels all too large, too empty, too cold, and Taeyong can't think about anything other than how Doyoung would hum to him when he couldn't sleep, whisper about how pretty he is. 

And no matter how tired Doyoung would get, he'd always refuse to sleep until Taeyong did, even when the older insisted otherwise.

And somehow, the man who'd trace every detail of Taeyong's skin with his fingertip, who'd litter kisses all over his face and make him smile at his lowest, was the same man who'd left without a second of hesitation, the man who'd changed from someone full of light and love, to nothing more than a distant stranger, existing only in his memory.

He exhales, threading fingers through the light strands of his hair. He hates how hard it is to sleep, how hard it is to do anything. He knows he's more than the breakup, he's more than who he is with Doyoung— but it's all he can think about. How he could have changed things, prevented things, how he could have been better. 

He's left thinking about it all until his eyelids finally feel heavy, and he's finally starting to slip into the state of in-between asleep and awake, where everything feels odd and numb.

He's not sure if he ever falls asleep completely, or for how long, but he's brought out of it by a persistent buzzing, and it only takes Taeyong a few seconds of sleepily groaning in complaint to register the source, just as it stops. He reaches to his side table, lazily retrieving his phone and bringing it towards himself. He's not sure what kind of notification he's expecting, but whatever exhaustion is lingering over him feels as if it disappears the instant he sees a missed call from Doyoung.

Maybe it'd be laughable, in another circumstance. 

Doyoung, who hasn't said a word to him since abruptly leaving one day, who Taeyong had assumed had deleted every trace of him, calling him at almost two in the morning.

He's sitting up with a heart hammering against his chest and a million possibilities darting through his mind. Is something wrong? Is he hurt? Is he overthinking in the same way Taeyong has been, every night since Doyoung left?

Taeyong calls Doyoung back, pressing the phone against his ear, fingers so tight around the device that his knuckles whiten. It rings once, twice, three times—

"Taeyong." The voice is jarring. It feels like centuries since he's heard it, though Doyoung's tone isn't anything like he's heard before.

"Are you okay?" Taeyong can't believe they're the first words that come from him after what Doyoung's done, after the weeks of sleepless nights and empty days he's left him with. Maybe once or twice, in an effort to comfort himself, he'd convinced himself he'd say something meaningful, something to tell the other what he'd put him through, if he ever found himself talking to Doyoung again.

"I can't—" Doyoung cuts himself off, pauses, and Taeyong hears a noise he can't identify. "I'm coming. I'll be there in a minute."

And with that he's hung up, and Taeyong's left with the phone still against his ear, frozen with disbelief.

He doesn't get it. Maybe he's still dreaming, maybe he's reached the point of exhaustion where he can't tell what's real and what's fake, because there isn't a single reason he can name as to why Doyoung would be coming. Taeyong knows he's not the type to go back on his words or apologise, especially when it comes to something that made him abandon an entire relationship.

The phone slips from his hand, onto the tangled mess of sheets amongst Taeyong's bed, and he wonders if he should just sleep. Sleep off whatever messed up train of thought he's found himself in. 

The knocks sound out through his apartment, intimidating and firm against the wood of the door. 

And without a moment of hesitance, Taeyong's rising from his bed. It's only then he realises he's wearing Doyoung's shirt— so used to the scent of him that it only stands out when it's not there. It doesn't matter regardless, the other never came back for anything he owned anyway.

He's only reaching the hallway when there's another knock, more urgent than the last. He approaches the front door faster, briefly struggling with the lock that Doyoung had once promised to fix, one of many forgotten things that reminded Taeyong that he wasn't there anymore.

Sure enough, when he opens the door, with a timidness he doesn't know the reasoning for, there's Doyoung. Taeyong hadn't thought to turn on a light, so he can barely make out the other, he can't read his expression, and the darkness of his clothing doesn't help define his figure. But an exhale falls from his lips at his presence alone, at his safety, he's thought so often of Doyoung being gone that his mind is far from shy of possibilities of something happening to him, but there he is, right in front of Taeyong.

"Doyoung," He says, and the name feels sour with unfamiliarity at his tongue. "What's going on?"

"I shouldn't be here." The other says, like it's an explanatory answer to his question. "Forget I came."

Taeyong's rendered speechless, and for a moment he just stands there with his lips slightly parted, words stuck somewhere in his throat. He doesn't get it, doesn't know why Doyoung's here, or why he's so opposed to it in the first place.

It's as if Doyoung's glued in place, so Taeyong takes half a step into the hallway. Part of him wants to press why he's there, why he _left,_ while the rest of himself just wants him to stay, wants a wordless agreement for him to stay the night and to sleep in his arms again, pretend for one night that things never changed.

Doyoung steps back. "Don't."

It's as if the word doesn't process in the older's mind, all he wants is to help Doyoung.

The reaction is instant, Taeyong doesn't have time to process what happens between him barely grazing fingertips against Doyoung's skin, and him ending up pressed harshly against the wall, a jolt of pain shooting through his back at the quickness of it. Doyoung's never shown an ounce of strength in all his time of knowing him, especially not against Taeyong.

"I told you, don't," Doyoung's voice is pained, and desperately, all Taeyong finds himself wanting is to comfort him. "Fuck, Taeyong— I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't." He says again, shaking his head. There's a grip at his waist now, keeping him firm against the wall, and Doyoung's touch is that of ice— so cold it makes Taeyong wince. "I tried so _hard_ to stay away from you. And I thought I could, I thought— I thought it was bullshit, all of it. That anyone would do, but fuck."

Taeyong feels like Doyoung's speaking a foreign language to him, and he blinks. "Doyoung—"

"I can't stop thinking about you, your scent," He leans closer, takes a long inhale close to Taeyong's neck. "You smell so good. Fuck. It hurts so bad that I feel like— like I could die." 

The blonde doesn't spare a second to consider what exactly he means. "What do you need?" It's a soft and intimate question, he knows it.

Doyoung exhales, as if he wants to laugh, but is far too tired. "Really, Taeyong? I leave, I don't talk to you for weeks, I show up at your door at two in the morning and pin you against a wall— and all you ask is what I need?"

The closer the other gets, the more coldness Taeyong feels. And yeah, maybe he has a point— but he knows Doyoung's in pain, and he wants to fix it.

"Tell me." Taeyong almost whispers.

"I can't." Doyoung doesn't move, still hovers over him.

"Please—"

"I can't!" He repeats, and presses Taeyong closer against the wall, resisting any space he'd started to eliminate between the two of them. "I can't, I just— I won't be able to stop, I'll hurt you."

Doyoung swallows, moving back in the slightest to aim a gaze towards the floor, when all Taeyong wants is to let their eyes meet. "You know what they don't tell you about vampires, Taeyong?"

If Taeyong wasn't still already, he would be now.

"They can't just feed from anyone. They can, really, but it's useless. It only makes them hungrier. What they need—" Doyoung pauses, shakes his head. Taeyong can't see his face, but he's sure the other's eyes are firmly shut. "Is their lover. The only blood that can satisfy their need is that of someone they love."

This time, Doyoung lets out a long laugh. "It's funny, isn't it? I left because I didn't want to hurt you, and then, here I am. Hurting because of how much I need you."

Taeyong's never felt more at a loss for words. It feels like piecing together a puzzle, and making something even less coherent. 

He's a vampire, he broke up with Taeyong because he's a _vampire._

"How long have you..." He trails off. He can't even say it aloud, it'll seem even more ridiculous if he does.

"A few days before we broke up." Doyoung still doesn't look up, and Taeyong's tempted to lift his chin to force their eyes to meet. "I always knew it was a possibility but, I hoped it wasn't. Maybe if I knew I was one, I never would have—" He stops, exhales. "It happens, what? A hundred days after your twenty first birthday, or something like that. How stupid, right? Like the flick of a switch. One day you're fine, and the next you're this— this monster, and all you fucking need is blood, blood from the person you love, and if you don't get it, then—"

"Then what?" Taeyong urges, and Doyoung's grip finally loosens at his waist.

"Then you die." He answers nonchalantly, like it's the most casual aspect of their conversation so far. "It's the only way, too. The only thing that can kill me."

Taeyong feels like his heart drops to his stomach. It's almost as if Doyoung's telling him a story, a recap of some movie he'd seen once, not whatever kind of reality they'd ended up in, in the dark of Taeyong's apartment at two in the morning. 

Doyoung, a vampire, destined to die without the blood of his lover.

And Taeyong, his lover.

"Then take my blood, or whatever you need to do." He mutters, absentmindedly shaking his head. Nothing else was even a possibility, if it was up to Doyoung's life.

"Taeyong," Doyoung finally looks to him, and for the first time that night, their eyes meet. Whatever uncertainty about everything they've exchanged in the few minutes fades away, and somehow, Taeyong feels a calmness. "I can't. I don't know that I'll be able to stop once I start. I could hurt you, or worse—"

"You won't." Taeyong answers, with as much sureness as he thinks is possible. "I know you won't. I trust you."

"Why?" The younger questions, in a voice distant and empty. "What have I done for you to trust me?" 

And Taeyong hates that he can't answer that, not properly at least. He just _knows_ he trusts Doyoung— the man he instantly loves as if nothing's happened, the man who'd left only for the sake of protecting him.

"I trust you." He instead says again. 

Everything else goes unspoken, in a long look between the two of them. He can tell Doyoung is searching his expression for the genuineness of his words. And slowly, there's fingers at his face, gentle, unlike the other gestures and touches of the night, it's more like what Taeyong's used to, Doyoung caressing his cheek with soft, cold fingertips. 

He's not sure when their faces had become so close to one another, or when Doyoung started to kiss him, so delicately it's as if Taeyong were made of glass. It only lasts a moment, and before he knows it, Doyoung's lips are at his neck instead, spoiling him with lingering kisses against his warm skin.

It makes Taeyong tilt his head to one side, wordlessly offering more access to his skin. His eyes slip shut when Doyoung sucks softly slightly above Taeyong's collarbone. It feels familiar and welcoming, and almost enough for the older to forget of everything else.

"Tell me you're sure." Doyoung's mumbling, just above a whisper by Taeyong's ear.

"I'm sure." He responds faintly, one hand finding place at the front of Doyoung's shirt, finally letting himself touch him, as if things are normal, and the man before him doesn't feel as if he's made of ice.

Doyoung exhales, hesitates for a moment before urging Taeyong to tilt his head to the side further, which the blonde obliges to thoughtlessly.

And then he's leaving kisses over his skin again, each longer and slower than the last. 

Taeyong's anticipating it any moment, and he isn't sure what to expect. Perhaps it's like a needle, temporary and forgettable, or maybe it's a kiss, gentle and intimate and riddled with love. Instead, it's an intense sting— a puncture at his neck that feels as if it travels through every inch of his body, and makes him whimper. It's nothing like he's ever felt, nothing in the world he can compare the feeling to. 

Blades sharpened to perfection, made for this and only this. 

Somewhere in the painfulness of it, he knows it feels good. He knows it's helping Doyoung, fulfilling him, and that's more than enough to make the eventual numbness he feels worth it.

Doyoung must know it hurts, because one hands at Taeyong's side in an instant, and a finger traces gentle patterns, circles, swirls, lines.

It helps, but only for a millisecond. There's pressure at the other side of his neck, Doyoung's other hand, he feels the younger tense against him, and he realises he hasn't even started to _suck_ his blood yet, and Taeyong's knees suddenly feel weak. He knows for sure he should have laid down, or at least sat for this, but it's all too late now, when there's an awful new harshness to the pain he'd slowly grown used to. Doyoung is sucking, forcing the blood from the wound he's pierced. 

He expects the new painfulness to subside too, maybe he's stupidly hoping for a sense of something close to euphoria once he gets used to it; but it only worsens, Doyoung grows tenser, his grip on Taeyong grows tighter, and it hurts all the worse, making him feel like he can't stand, can barely hold onto the material of Doyoung's shirt.

He doesn't know how long Doyoung's been sucking at his blood now— feeding from him. It could be seconds, could be hours; he doesn't know. But he feels weak, his heart that had once felt like it might burst from his chest now beats pathetically slow, and so is his breathing, he realises. In a way, it's almost calming, peaceful. Everything feels slow and permanent, though somehow simultaneously rapid, instant.

"Doyoung." A weak voice says, and he realises it's own. He's so dizzy, the man before him seems like nothing more than a blur. He hadn't even realised Doyoung had detached himself from his neck. How long has he been standing here? How much blood has he lost?

He guesses it doesn't matter, as long as Doyoung's okay. And he is, mumbling something Taeyong can't really care to make out.

Without a thought he's clinging to Doyoung, arms around him as tightly as he can manage. He doesn't want him to go again, he thinks, in whatever state he's in, ridden with blood loss and exhaustion and probably half a dozen other things weighing him down, making him feel heavy in the way that he can't hold himself up.

Doyoung is holding onto him too, with an effortlessness Taeyong recognises even in his half-delirious state. But he can't let his mind linger on it too long, he's too tired, too weak to weigh the details of his newfound, vampire ex-boyfriend in the moment.

And when he lets his mind lose any attachment to anything around him, to Doyoung muttering that he's sorry, that Taeyong's going to be okay, to the tiredness, to the aching of every inch of his body, he loses sense of it all. And though it shouldn't, it feels okay.

Doyoung doesn't sleep. 

Taeyong realises it quickly, though it's almost like nothing's changed. He still stays by the older's side, from when he falls asleep to when he wakes up. Watching him, tracing fingertips over his skin, —to his own surprise, Taeyong had grown used to the coldness of him quickly, in such a way that it had just become another thing about Doyoung that comforted him— running fingers through his hair, humming, sometimes singing to him. 

When he wakes up every morning, Doyoung's there no matter what, and it's almost enough to make Taeyong forget he'd ever left in the first place.

It's one morning, after a particularly exhausted Taeyong had spent the night sleeping against Doyoung's chest, listening to the steady heartbeat that never changed, that he asks, "Don't you get bored?"

"I couldn't," Doyoung answers, tone laced with sincerity and promise, as he presses a kiss to Taeyong's forehead. "I like the reminder that between the two of us, you're still human. You're still you."

Taeyong doesn't get it. Aside from the need for blood, the coldness, the strength— Doyoung is still Doyoung. He's still the man he'd fallen in love with a thousand times, and still the man he'd live every life with. He's still a human, still a person. Still full of life and love, and that's all that matters to Taeyong.

He wishes he could show Doyoung that he's the furthest thing from the monster he makes himself out to be.

There's equal parts of him that love and dread the times Doyoung needs to feed. 

He likes knowing he can help, and somewhere within him he wouldn't want it to ever be anyone else. It's a responsibility, almost, being Doyoung's lover, but one he's grateful for. 

But it's draining, in the emotional and literal sense. He's expecting it to be easier the second time, when he promises Doyoung he'll be okay. Though it feels a million times harsher, when the other can't resist it any longer, and he's atop of him, straddling his hips and pressing Taeyong further into the bed, and he _bites_ again, a wound the older hasn't even fully recovered from since the first time.

It simultaneously brings an ache and a numbness, and all Taeyong can do is shut his eyes and hope he's giving Doyoung what he needs, satisfying the painful hunger that takes only two weeks to manifest. He grips at the other's sides, chews at his bottom lip, though all that distracts him enough to keep going is knowing that he's helping Doyoung, sparing him the awfulness that hunger brings. He knows it's worth it, and he tells himself it a thousand times over.

And he knows Doyoung feels terrible every time, rambling apologies and reassurances, fussing over making sure Taeyong eats and drinks, gets enough rest. He knows it pains Doyoung too, he hates himself for being the reason of it all, for making Taeyong physically suffer, having to watch him weaken to nothingness, but there isn't a thing either can do about it.

All Taeyong wants is to be strong enough to ignore the agonising pain, but he knows he can't.

"We can't do this anymore." Doyoung tells him one day, while Taeyong fiddles with his fingers in his lap. Doyoung's making him a meal, but he's far from hungry. 

"Do what?" Though he knows the answer, he still asks it faintly, in a way that reminds him all too much of the day Doyoung left.

"You're weak, Taeyong. I'm afraid—" He hears the other stop what he's doing, place down the knife he's cutting vegetables with and approach Taeyong, leaning in front of him and taking both of his hands in his own. Taeyong watches the way Doyoung caresses the side of his hand with his thumb. "I know I'm hurting you. I am more every time." He draws in a sharp breath. "I don't want to kill you."

Taeyong looks up from their hands, fixing his gaze on Doyoung's face. He hasn't changed in any way— not physically, at least. If it hadn't been for what he knew, he'd think the man ahead of him was the same one he'd met three years ago, lively and gentle. 

"I'll be okay," He promises. "Really. I'm just not used to it yet."

It doesn't feel like a lie, not entirely, because he so desperately _wants_ it to be true.

Doyoung doesn't look convinced, so Taeyong gently adds, "I trust you."

And for the second time, that does it.

Taeyong tries. He tries with everything in him to be strong, mentally and physically, but it's too much. It's as if Doyoung's hunger is worse with every feed, every time he needs more, and there's less opportunity for Taeyong to recover.

He wants to be okay for him, but he can't. 

Doyoung was right— he's weak, and it's stupid to think he can keep going like this. They both know that.

But he loves Doyoung. He loves him so, so deeply. He wants nothing but to help him.

It's deep into the night, and Doyoung probably thinks he's asleep, pressed against his side, focused on the way the other gives him the gentlest of touches along his arm.

Taeyong's tired, he always is these days, but sleep feels far from him again. 

"I forgive you." He says softly, and feels Doyoung's touch falter for nothing more than a second, before it continues, softer than ever.

"Hm?" 

"For leaving. I know you only did it because you didn't want to hurt me." Taeyong explains slowly, and he shifts, tries to hold himself up and rest his weight at his arms, but even that feels like too much, and he instead leans on Doyoung.

The younger sits up a little, tangling an arm around Taeyong's waist to bring him closer. "Thank you." He mumbles, moving a few strands of hair from Taeyong's eyes.

"Just— don't leave again," Taeyong lets their gazes meet. "Please?"

He can see the answer Doyoung _wants_ to give, but he stays silent for a moment, parting his lips then pressing then firmly together again. "Taeyong—"

"What?" He finds himself practically demanding. Through everything, it's all he finds himself wanting— the knowledge that he'll stay. "Why can't you promise to stay with me?"

Doyoung sighs. "Because I'm hurting you. I can't keep doing this. You're falling apart." 

"I'll be okay, I told you."

"You lied."

And Taeyong realises Doyoung's right, because he won't be okay. Not like this.

"You'll die if you don't feed from me." He points out, and slides a fingertip over the marks at his neck. He wonders if they'd scar, if they'd remain there forever if Doyoung never bit him again.

Doyoung looks to the side, at nothing but faint outlines of furniture in the dark of the room. "And you'll die if I keep feeding from you."

Taeyong finds a smile at his lips, a sad, broken smile that's been hinting at his expression for weeks now. "You're right," He shakes his head, looking down to the closeness between them. "It's one of us no matter what, isn't it?"

There it is, what's gone unspoken since Doyoung's return. Nothing about what was now between them was permanent, and they both knew it. There was no more point in pretending things would end any other way.

Taeyong doesn't realise there's suddenly warm tears halfway down his cheeks, and Doyoung is cupping his face, instantly wiping the wetness with his thumb. Their foreheads are pressed against one another's, and all Taeyong feels like he can do is cry at the cruelness of it all, the impossibility of a happy ending for them.

"It's _me_ no matter what, Taeyong. You can still be okay." Doyoung whispers, lips so close to the older's that Taeyong can feel the movements at his own. 

"Why would I want to be okay if it's not with you?" Taeyong murmurs, as if Doyoung's proposed the most bizarre concept he's ever heard. 

"Don't be ridiculous." Doyoung's whispering now, and the blonde swallows, shaking his head only slightly this time.

"I'm not," He whispers too. "If it's one of us, if it's you— Then it's both of us. No question about it."

For a while, neither speak.

"I'm not living without you." Taeyong eventually adds.

And he can't make out what Doyoung thinks. The other doesn't let him, anyway, because he's kissing him with the most gentleness he's ever given, lips so soft against Taeyong's that they're barely there, and Taeyong feels those warm tears at his cheeks again, practically burning against his skin.

"I love you, Taeyong." Doyoung tells him, and it feels like a resolution to everything. The four words are a cure to the incurable. 

"I love you too." Taeyong breathes. "Together?" 

There's still hesitance lingering over Doyoung's features, but he eventually gives a slow nod and relaxes. "Together."

Taeyong hums, browsing the shelf of the library. He knows it's supposed to be here, but he seems to be finding every book _except_ the one he's looking for. Shakespeare this, Shakespeare that.

Romeo and Juliet.

Finally, he thinks. 

Just as he realises there's only one copy, it processes that it's gone, and beside him stands someone he doesn't recognise, likely younger, and a hint taller. His eyes are dark, as if reflecting the color of his hair, though they're welcoming— they hold a friendliness, a lively innocence.

The unnamed other is holding the book like it's a prized possession. "Let me guess, you're studying this too?"

Taeyong exhales with relief at the tone, lighthearted and teasing, enough to reassure him that there isn't going to be some sort of useless argument over it. "Yeah. I studied it a few years ago already, actually. So I don't need it for long."

"That's good. So I'm sure you won't mind sharing it with me then? Seeing as there _is_ only one— and my paper _is_ due in about 12 hours." 

Taeyong finds himself smiling, glancing towards the floor. "Sure— I mean, you should probably work on that whole 'last minute' thing though. Be more like me, mine's due in a whole two days."

The other laughs softly. "I like you already. I'm Doyoung, by the way."

Doyoung. 

Taeyong likes that.

"Taeyong." He introduces, and Doyoung smiles.

"Taeyong," Doyoung echos, like he's testing how it sounds in his own voice. "It's nice to meet you then, Taeyong. My stuff is over this way, if you want to come sit with me."

Taeyong nods, maybe too eagerly, but he's too focused on the way Doyoung's whole face lights up when he smiles or laughs to care much.

As he follows to a small, two-seater table towards the furthest corner of the library, Doyoung hums thoughtfully, tapping fingers against the spine of the book he holds. "You said you'd studied it before, right? What do you think of it?"

Taeyong considers his words. "Well it's a classic, obviously. You can't really go wrong with that," He waits until Doyoung sits down to pull back the second chair, now knowing which was his. Placing the bag that had loosely clung onto his shoulder down at his feet, he takes the seat, making himself comfortable. "But I think it's beautiful. Tragedy, in that sense. To love someone so much that a life without them seems worse than death. Don't you think?"

Doyoung is watching him carefully, expression plagued with thoughtfulness. "Beautiful," He repeats, looking to the book he'd placed between the two of them. "Yeah. I guess it is."

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed reading as much as i enjoyed finally writing this angsty vampire dotae concept i've had in my head for a while now!
> 
> thank you to hanna for reading over this and helping me make it even More emotional :P


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